


Broken Silence

by whirlyblurrs (acemodeus)



Series: Rarepair Palooza [2]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Holding Hands, Hugs, Kissing, Like they're best bros but they totally smooch, M/M, Romantic Friendship, robot boyfriends, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:52:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acemodeus/pseuds/whirlyblurrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His voice was something truly special; a gift that Smokescreen treasured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hey-ho lookee here more SmokeBee.  
> I'm on a frickin' roll.

Smokescreen loved hearing Bumblebee speak.

During the first month of having his voice repaired, the ex-scout always seemed to have an undertone of enthusiasm whenever he spoke. It didn't even really matter what he was talking about at that particular moment, either; when Bumblebee was speaking, everything seemed _exciting._

And, most of all, Bumblebee loved sharing his voice with Smokescreen. He would sit around with the speedster for hours on end, chatting about the most simplistic of things; and throughout it all Smokescreen would listen intently, would gently hold onto the yellow bot's servos and stare into his rotating optics with unwavering attention, only commenting every so often so as not to go too long without the sweet sound of his partner's spoken words.

Over that single month, Smokescreen had come to realize that he was completely enamored.  
He'd always been sweet on 'Bee, that was not a new development by any means; but he'd become even more attached when the ex-scout's voice had returned.

When he'd first heard the sound of it, he'd felt electricity shoot up his spinal strut, felt his knees almost lock together, and his spark had pulsed violently as the sweet lilt of his partner's voice flowed over him. He'd latched onto the memory, stored it at the forefront of his memory banks, and mentally replayed it over and over until they'd returned back to base.

And now they were alone again, sitting close enough for their knee-joints to bump together, and Bumblebee was lost in the moment, regaling Smokescreen with another old story about the battles he'd fought in before the war had left the planet. And, as usual, Smokescreen's attention was captured by the intensity of it all, leaning in close--practically looming over his partner--as he focused on the tale being told.

It had been one of the most crucial missions he'd ever been sent on, Bumblebee had told him with passion. One that he alone was tasked with carrying out. He'd spoken of the large-scale battle he'd shot his way through in order to reach his objective, the blasts and blades he'd dodged to ensure he'd stayed alive to carry out his mission. He'd ordered the others to remain outside and fend off any enemy reinforcements, as he'd made his way inside, focus never faltering and determination ever-present as he'd hurried inside, through the heavily-sealed chamber that he had the key too--one Optimus had entrusted him with--and had taken the sealed container into his servos, had propelled into space, only to-

He cut himself off with a harsh gasp and a shudder of fear, frame shaking as his optics twitched back and forth in a panicked state. Smokescreen gave him a nervous look. and winced as Bumblebee suddenly gripped his servos near tight enough to dent the plating.

At first, he didn't understand what caused the sudden change.  
And then it hit him, hard.

_The Allspark._   
_He had been telling the story of when Megatron had taken his voice._

He yanked his servos back and, for a moment, 'Bee looked like he would beg him not to leave; he stopped himself short as a pair of arms wrapped tightly around his frame, and soft kisses were peppered across his face-plates. His servos gripped tightly at Smokescreen's chassis, mouth set in a thin, nervous line, before leaning upwards to press a kiss to his partner's helm crest. He pressed forward, face-plates buried in the speedster's neck cables, as he murmured a soft expression of thanks, and an even softer apology; Smokescreen responded with a small shake of his head, stating that the smaller bot had nothing to apologize for.

Bumblebee wasn't released from the tight hold until his frame stopped quivering.  
And when he finally was, Smokescreen suggested counting the stars to help calm his nerves.

The ex-scout gave a small smile in response and, as they sat beneath the late night skies of Cybertron, he began to count the seemingly-endless lights that shone above. And, all the while, Smokescreen listen, lulled into a dreamy state of mind as the numbers droned on, the sound of his partner's voice never losing its airy tone as he counted off the cluster of stars straight above them.

_Twenty-two...twenty-three...twenty-four..._

With their servos entwined and his helm resting upon Bumblebee's shoulder armor, Smokescreen found himself drifting into a peaceful recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever actually write a story that is either more than one chapter or not horrendously short?  
> The world may never know.


End file.
